


When the Sky Above —Enuma Elish—

by SlowQuotesQuill



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, Origin Story, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlowQuotesQuill/pseuds/SlowQuotesQuill
Summary: “That is a foolish question,” he says, announces, declares. “The judgment of the mongrels who dare desecrate my garden—that is the only purpose that I serve.“The Holy Grail, you say? Bring it to me! I shall judge your beloved mongrels’ wishes, and if I find them lacking and disgraceful to the memory of the one closest to my heart, prepare to face my wrath.“And I shall tear open the heavens for the thieves that dare lay hands on my Grail, and bathe them in their folly…“I, Gilgamesh, desire—!”
Relationships: Enkidu | False Lancer/Gilgamesh | Archer
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	When the Sky Above —Enuma Elish—

_“Let me tell you about the most ancient time, when the world was still one._

_“A certain kingdom flourished, and its king collected every treasure in the world. There was nothing he could not collect, and he lacked nothing._

_“The king had a perfect treasury, and the masses of weapons in there were never used, but instead went to sleep with the king. The story is that simple._

_“After the king's death, the contents of the treasury room spread all over the world. They were valued because they were splendid swords, and they eventually became Noble Phantasms._

_“…Do you understand, King of Knights? The Noble Phantasms you use are just the king's possessions.”_

**Fate/stay night // Fate—Day 14**

* * *

The Divine Gilgamesh, Lord of Kullab and of Ur, does not simply bestow his favors on anyone, much less worship them.

But sometimes it is very easy to pretend that he does. Especially when he gazes up at you with an unreadable look in his inhuman crimson eyes and smiles a bit—or at least, that’s what you call it when his lip quirks upwards, only very slightly. And more especially when that smile grows, and he raises his arm to take your hand and kiss your fingers with an uncharacteristic tenderness that one can easily mistake for reverence.

But everyone says that Gilgamesh does not adore anything like he adores you, and as a weapon, you feel quite proud of having captured his attention like so.

“Beloved,” he calls you, simply, commandingly, and with the way the word melts on his tongue, one would think that “Beloved” had been your name since you had been naught but a clod of earth in Ea’s hands, and irresistibly, you turn your head toward him, and he lifts the corner of his lip, in that strange little smile that does not seem like a smile.

You realize, with a little bitterness, that if you cannot rely on anything else in the world, you can always count on Gilgamesh’s persistent isolation from his emotions, from his people, from you.

“Beloved,” he repeats, slowly, “tell me what is on your mind,” and you glance at the gray sky stretching over Ur before meeting his gaze once more. From your seat on the balcony, Gilgamesh was technically on lower ground, but from the look in his eyes, you know that you can get away with being on a higher seat than he was, at least this time.

“It smells like rain,” you reply, gesturing at the sky. “Do you love the rain, Gil?”

“We have already told you to stop shortening our name so boorishly. We are the King.”

“No one’s here to hear it, so stop quibbling, Gil. Do you, or do you not?”

He seems irritated with your childish disobedience and line of inquiry, but then he starts pondering, as careful as he was when searching for something in his vast treasury. Despite Gilgamesh’s arrogance, he always took great care with the things that he valued the most. With the thought he put into answering you, perhaps, your question was a valuable one as well.

“The rain is valuable, few and far between as it is,” he finally says. “We do not dislike it.”

You laugh at the petulant undercurrent in his tone. Raised as the next ruler from birth, Gilgamesh has always spoken with severe formality and plurality, always speaking as if he represented the populace and yet was above the populace at the same time. A balance that was crumbling right from the start.

“Yet, you do not love it as well,” you tell him boldly.

Gilgamesh’s eyes widen slightly, and you think for a moment that he might start blowing over, but then the faint thunder crackles in the distance and he tears his eyes from yours, as if searching for the lightning in the dark clouds that would surely follow.

“All valuable things must be loved by us,” he declares, steadfast. “If we do not pursue objects and phenomena based on their value, we are not fit to be King of this garden.”

“I see.”

He seems a little more than disturbed at the shortness of your reply. “You are not satisfied, Beloved?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you tell him, and you smile a bit to help ease the tight look in his face. “However, I would like to make a request of you.”

He seems surprised with your guarded tone. “You are the brightest jewel in our treasury. We do not need to give you permission to move or speak as you will.” He scoffed. “Except for the matter of that name, of course.”

You hold up a hand, and give Gilgamesh’s bright hair a quick ruffle. He pushes your hand away, slightly miffed at the sudden gesture, but makes no move to retaliate.

“Gil, I hope that when the time comes that you get asked a question more important than this, you will be more honest with yourself.” 

* * *

Frequently, at night, Kotomine Kirei finds that he has been dreaming more than was usual for him. 

For a man who does not dream at all in the past, this has been gnawing at the edges of his mind more than he would have liked it to. The aftermath of the Fourth Holy Grail War brought changes that were not unpleasant, but it also brought a lot of things that he was not at all used to handling. It included a cavity in his chest where his heart had been supposed to be, now filled with the unpleasant black mud of the Grail, and of course, a golden guest that impinged upon his hospitality, the King of Heroes. Kirei had at first doubted how he could ever feed such a guest, but the great fire of Fuyuki provided them with enough harvest so that Kirei wouldn’t have to worry about the Servant’s mana consumption anymore. 

He had also started to grow out his hair, now. Gilgamesh seemed amused at even this simplest decision, always remarking something along the lines of “Day by day, you are looking more like your deceased father. A dutiful son you are indeed,” while chuckling sinisterly. During those moments, Kirei can only glance at him and leave the Servant to gaze after him with those devilish, wine-red eyes. He has always been a stranger to emotions—Gilgamesh’s taunting can do little to sully his ego, which has already been non-existent from the start. 

“Our contract is still in effect, it seems,” he decided to tell the Servant one morning, as he was cleaning up the altar after the first Mass of the day. Strangely, Gilgamesh has taken to sitting at the farthest pew during the first services—of course, not actually participating, but just watching over the few people who do come to the church every day to attend the Mass.

Kirei was certain that Gilgamesh was also tickled by the fact that a man like him has been presiding over this holy ceremony, but chose not to ask him about his motives in case the Servant does confirm that his conclusion has been correct all along. With his mouth closed and his face carefully blank, Gilgamesh might easily pass for the son of one of the rich foreign families of Fuyuki, which is probably why no one attending Mass had spared him a strange look so far.

“Yes, it is.” One of the few amusements Gilgamesh had in this era was trying on the clothes of the modern world. Today he was in a crimson shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. The sleeves had been rolled up to his smooth elbow. White trouser pants and leather shoes completed the ensemble. One might think he had just walked out of the front cover of a celebrity magazine, either because of his expensive clothing, or the golden-colored aura he exuded so easily. “Why do you draw my attention to that now, Kirei? Might it be that you are getting tired of our arrangement?”

“Not at all, Gilgamesh.” Kirei finished putting back the golden candlesticks and the white linen in their respective places, and straightened up completely. “These past few months have been considerably more interesting because of your mere presence.”

“As I’m sure it is.” With just the two of them remaining in the church now, Gilgamesh impudently puts his feet up on the back of the pew before him and puts his hands behind his head, the ultimate picture of leisure. Involuntarily, Kirei’s throat bubbled with a protest, but the King of Heroes just smirked at him. “What is it, Kirei? Be honored that I have not destroyed this temple of the gods just yet out of my scant affection to you as Master. It is a sore sight to see mongrels praying to gods who do not listen, but you are a valuable resource, and I do not wish to estrange you from me.”

“I am grateful,” Kirei said simply, and to his surprise, he was indeed feeling thankful. Gilgamesh could demolish this sanctuary any time he wanted, but to stay his hand meant that Kirei can continue old habits that die hard—like this Mass. Perhaps, his father’s teaching was one of the remaining things that can still help keep his mind at peace. “However, I speak of a different matter today, and it concerns our extended contract.”

Gilgamesh only stared at him, which Kirei interpreted as a gesture to speak on. “It seems that… because of our contract, I am still bound to dream of memories that are yours at night.” At this, Gilgamesh raised a golden eyebrow, prompting Kirei to expound further. “I do not consider it a hindrance… merely, it seems faintly sacrilegious of me to keep intruding into your past when the war is yet to begin once more.”

“I do not mind.” Idly, Gilgamesh swung his feet off the back of the pew and landed on the marble floor with a slight thump that made Kirei wince slightly. “I shall permit you to keep seeing them—the Grail wills it. However…” His face twists slightly, and Kirei almost feared that he was going to start on another one of his famous tantrums—“do not speak about dreaming of my past in my presence ever again. The knowledge of it offends me.”

“…I understand, King of Heroes.” Kirei bowed his head, if only to placate Gilgamesh’s growing irritation. “I shall not speak of it again.” 

* * *

_“It is useless, you puppet. Not even the gods can escape these chains. No, it will become stronger the more divine one is. This is a chain made to bind the gods. I will not allow transportation through a Command Spell.”_

**Fate/stay night // Unlimited Blade Works—Day 13**

* * *

Once, Rimat-Ninsun had said that while Gilgamesh was the sword of judgment that separated humans and gods, you were the chains of judgment that kept heaven and earth together. It was a strange analogy, you ponder, and while Gilgamesh was indeed steeped in his loneliness as king and ruler and demigod and was fit to mediate between both as he wished, you have a hard time in convincing yourself that your adoptive mother was right in thinking that you, mere human, mere weapon, was something that can undo what Gilgamesh can do. 

“Our friend, you are lost in thought of other things again.” Accordingly, Gilgamesh distracts you from your thoughts with a gentle kiss. Without his boredom making him rash and dangerous, an appeased Gilgamesh can be quite benevolent, or so you have found out during the early days of your friendship. This aspect of his reminds you very much of a cat—or more accurately, a lion cub. In this state, Gilgamesh is less divine, and more human. In this state, he is less guarded against more pleasant emotions showing in his face. 

It is a pity that this state does not often manifest, so now, you enjoy this moment. “Apologies, my king. Does it bother you so?” 

“The thinking, or the losing?” Gilgamesh has waved in a maidservant, and you follow her movements with your eyes as she proceeded to pour some wine into two goblets. “It is natural for a human to think. We shall not begrudge you the right. But the losing, well…” Having sent away the servant, he sniffed at the wine before taking a draught. “Losing yourself is a dangerous thing. Do you not agree?” 

“Gil, you speak as if from experience.” 

Gilgamesh was only silent, sipping at his drink leisurely. You decide that that was all the answer you needed. “Partake of this wine,” he commands you, and you take the other goblet when he proffers it. 

“We may not have chosen the most ideal words.”

Surprisingly, Gilgamesh seemed to have decided that he wanted to talk a little more. You raise the cup to your lips and drink. The alcohol was bittersweet on your tongue, and delicious. “Losing oneself… is not necessarily a dangerous thing. It may even be a privilege when it comes to certain things. Perhaps, like losing yourself to the flavor of this wine.” He swilled his goblet as he spoke, and drank deeply from it. He replaced the empty cup beside the jug.

“Pleasure is the fulfillment, and therefore, the utmost goal of man. Even you who is and has been the reddest jewel on our brow, you have been made into a man by pleasure. We encourage you, even, to lose yourself in pleasure. However…” He frowns. “Beloved, never lose yourself in doubt. Even the sheen of the finest metal in our stronghold can be marred by dust when left unchecked. It spoils our pleasure to look at you thus.” 

You smile at this little speech, and are slightly ashamed at how Gilgamesh, who was usually not the best at reading the atmosphere, can read you like an open book. “I beg your utmost pardon for showing you a moment of weakness. As one of yours, I am afraid that I am still sorely lacking.” 

“Do not doubt yourself again,” Gilgamesh commands you, and his tone is firm. “We have chosen you to be at our side all the time. If you are not the treasure we wanted to keep the most in all the world, then I am a poor judge of treasure.” 

You smile at these words. “You call yourself a judge of treasure, and you speak of humans as mongrels, but…” You curl up in your seat, your knees drawn up to your chest. “Surprisingly, I did not think that you would also care so much about the treasures that you have accumulated, and the subjects under your control.” 

“What are you talking about?” Gilgamesh seemed genuinely lost, and you shake your head. 

“Humbaba,” you say the name, and his eyes clear up at your answer. “It is a necessary task for the king,” was Gilgamesh’s haughty reply. “What sort of king does not protect his retainers from the evils of the world?” 

And yet you… 

You remember the first words that Ea has spoken unto you. 

_“‘I made you as his equal; you will be as like him as his own reflection, his second self; stormy heart for stormy heart. You shall contend together, and thus Gilgamesh, the Golden Tyrant, shall leave Uruk in quiet.”_

“You think of us as a tyrant,” came Gilgamesh’s voice, breaking you out of your musings, and you look up to see his proud face carefully blank and unruffled. 

“That’s… not right.” 

Your words shock even yourself. Gilgamesh had raised his eyebrows, startled. It seems that you were the first person to deny the idea of the Golden Tyrant. 

“You’re not a tyrant,” you affirm your answer, and smile, sadly. “You’re much worse than that. 

“You’re an observer—someone that no one will hope to understand.” 

Silence fell between the two of you, thick as cream. You were about to break the pause when you saw Gilgamesh’s face, and you stopped in your tracks. 

“We should not be surprised that the one closest to our heart has seen through us,” were his next words, and a childish look of embarrassment was on his features. It reminded you of the breathtaking innocence that the child Gilgamesh once had—the innocence that, you realize, drew you to his side once it has been lost. 

Yes, ruling the people was not the objective of the Golden King. Protecting them and caring for them—in the eyes of Gilgamesh, that is not what a king should do. He slew Humbaba not because of any concern for the people, but because Humbaba’s existence is a hindrance to his judgment of Uruk. 

“We rule over Uruk because we alone can judge their worth,” Gilgamesh says. “Humans will always bring forth something marvelous, but humans who go forth unchecked by the king’s law are naught but mongrels. Freedom? Justice? Law, they say? Ha! 

“Let the wild dogs, those mongrels, filthy half-breeds, cry foul about us in the desert! 

“We are _freedom_! 

“We are _justice_! 

“We are the _law_! and we shall judge these people as we see fit. 

“The gods hold no rein on us!” 

Someone who is more human, but less than a god—that is Gilgamesh, the bearer of the scales that judges humanity’s worth. 

“And what better way to judge humanity than from their legacies, their contributions to history, to civilization?” Gilgamesh waves his hand imperiously, and his white robes fall artistically in place and frame the solidness of his bare chest. Somehow he looks more like a young god, than merely a young king. “That is why we collect them! The refuse of humanity, their treasures, their blood, sweat, and tears—that is why we have assembled the treasures they left behind, and store them beyond the Gate!” 

—And with this mentality that no one else can understand, it is but understandable that the king, even if he does not realize it, is lonely. 

Yes. An observer, that no one will ever understand.

Therefore, an observer that is easy to hate—by gods and by men, alike. 

Someone that has no one on their side. 

Gilgamesh, keeper of the Gate of Babylon. 

“…My lord.” Awed by your understanding of the Eternal King before you, you didn’t realize that you had already dropped down on one knee before him, your chest heavy with the loneliness that you wanted to share with him. “Allow me to be by your side at all times. I shall be the chains of your judgment—use me as you will, to strike down the fool that tramples in your garden, to protect the wise who walk among your yellow flowers.” 

You can hear his robes flutter as Gilgamesh rises from his seat. 

“Rise, dearest of fools.” 

You raise your head, and Gilgamesh was smiling, not the little, constrained smile he usually shows, but a genuine one, a smile worn by someone who has lost an expensive ring and has just found it again. 

Relief. Happiness. Exasperation. A pledge not to lose it again. 

“A fool, you say?” you murmur, your tone ironic. 

“Yes, indeed, a fool. But a fool that I am not willing to lose.” His hands were grabbing yours, helping you to stand up. “For only a fool will label himself the King’s weapon, when the King already considers him a friend.” 

* * *

_“You are a hateful woman. You oppose me to the very end.”_

_The golden armor starts to fade away._

_The existence of the King of Heroes is disappearing._

_“…But I shall permit it. Some things are beautiful because they cannot be obtained.”_

**Fate/stay night // Fate—Day 15**

* * *

Gilgamesh dully stares at the slim, half-wasted body—no, it was now just a little better than a crumbling clay doll—that he carried in his arms. His golden hair is matted with earth, his fine white robe stained with mud, and his pale arms caked with clay, but the King pays no heed as he cradled the pitiful remains of what has once been you, his friend. 

“The gods have been cruel to you, our most treasured one,” he finally says, and unlike his usual commanding tone, his voice sounded dry and cracked, as if spoken by a man dying of thirst in the desert. 

Outside, thunder rumbled, and you can feel his arms trembling with the effort of carrying you, even as your weight was only half of what it originally used to be. 

Half of your face has already broken off, like a smashed clay jar, and your surviving eye looks slowly at the mourning figure of your divine companion. “It is unlike you, Gil, to mourn for one of the weapons in your infinite collection.” Your breath rattling, you pause to rest for a while before continuing hastily, seeing as how Gilgamesh had half-opened his mouth to speak. “Once, you have spoken thus: That there is no need to grieve because in time you would find countless greater treasures. I do not deserve any tears from you, seeing as I am but a worthless thing that will soon pass and be forgotten.” 

There was a moment’s silence, but then the king’s low anger disturbs it irresistibly. 

“Even if it is our beloved in all the world who has spoken thus, we shall not permit you to speak like that about yourself ever again.” 

You try to curve your mouth in a slight smile, which is now an extremely difficult task. You can now hardly remember how to do so in the first place. “I am happy that you take offense for my sake, but please…” 

And suddenly a drop of salt water was rolling from your eye and down your cheek, followed by another, and then another, until his arm that was supporting your head was awash with tears. 

_I don’t want this._

_I don’t want to die._

_I don’t want to leave you alone._

“Tell us what causes you distress,” Gilgamesh asks quietly, “so that we may strike it down and it cannot disturb your peace once more.” 

_You don’t understand, Gil._

“No, nothing. Only this.” Your lip trembled with emotion as Gilgamesh slowly wiped away your tears with a steady hand. His fingers came away with more soil on them. “My friend, my love, First of All Heroes. The hand that wields me like chains to hold down his foes. The face that I would shield all hurt, all uncertainty from… 

“…You are lonely, Gil.” 

“Lonely. Are we?” The question seems to unsettle him, confusion apparent in the wrinkle on his brow. However, his eyes start to narrow, his teeth clenching and gritting. “Tell us, Beloved. What do mongrels mean when they say ‘loneliness’?” 

Slowly, painfully, you place your disintegrating hand over his heart. 

“When humans say they are lonely,” you answer patiently, as if this was the days of old and Gilgamesh is but a youth, “It is because they feel that there is no one to call their equal anymore, and it pains them here.” 

Outside, dimly, you can hear the pattering of the raindrops starting to fade away. 

“…Then.” Gilgamesh takes your hand from his heart, and puts it on his cheek. “Perhaps, I am lonely.” 

It is the first time you hear him talk in the singular, and your lip trembles. Your fingers dig into Gilgamesh’s cheek, leaving angry red marks in their wake. 

“I apologize,” you whisper. “You should not have met me. If you hadn’t met me, then you wouldn’t have loved me…

“And I wouldn’t have caused you so much pain now.” 

“No.” 

A single word. 

“In all this world, only one shall be my friend,” Gilgamesh declared suddenly, “and only one I shall love above all things. And not for all eternity shall his worth ever change. Not even your words can change your importance for me.” Gilgamesh’s jaw was set with tension. Your consciousness was fading, but you give him one last smile. 

“I… see. Thank you.

“Thank you, for loving me.” 

You stare up at his face… 

…until your sight blacks out. 

The arms holding you become still. 

“In all this world, only one shall be my friend,” he repeats, brokenly. “But the gods have taken you from me. 

“The very rain has stolen you back again. 

“Can you not hear me?” 

You are gone forever, and Gilgamesh holds the clod of earth that was once your body more tightly to himself, and for the sake of love that was lost, your Gil throws his head back, tears his golden hair and robes off in unbearable agony, driven to insanity by his sadness, and like a dog mad with anger, howls, and howls, and _howls_. 

* * *

_“Saber, and Archer, the last question of the banquet—is the king lonesome?”_ _Rider shouted as he stood in the center of the raging desert wind. His cape danced atop his shoulders._

_Somehow, he had already changed back into the proper garb of the King of Conquerors._

_Archer’s mouth moved, and he sniggered. There was no need to answer. He replied with his silence instead._

**Fate/Zero // Vol. 2, Act 8**

* * *

Today, Kirei noticed that Gilgamesh has been staring out of the church windows for the better part of an hour. The sky overhead was gray and cloudy, and it smelled as if it would rain. A half-filled wine glass was in Gilgamesh’s hand, and he twirled it slowly before moodily emptying it in one go. 

Kirei didn’t much care for the tempestuous mood of the King of Heroes during normal days, but on rainy days, he seemed much worse than usual. It was a Thursday afternoon, and all Masses have already finished. Gilgamesh had been sitting on a pew beside the window and drinking his way through another bottle in Kirei’s wine collection, and by the color of his face, Kirei thought that he looked more than a little tipsy. 

Perhaps, a side effect of being forced into an incarnate body was that Gilgamesh’s pleasures can also take a toll on his condition, like so. 

“Gilgamesh.” 

The Servant didn’t respond, and was instead pouring himself another glass of wine. Kirei wondered if Gilgamesh was too lost in his own thoughts to notice him, or was intentionally ignoring him, and was about to give up and turn back to go to his chambers when Gilgamesh set the bottle down with a loud and empty-sounding thunk and sighed deeply, perhaps regretful at having poured out the last of the wine. Kirei turned around and was met by Gilgamesh’s red gaze. 

“Kirei. Bring me more wine… and another glass. Come, join me.” 

Knowing that a drunk and somber Gilgamesh was better than a drunk and infuriated one, Kirei sighed and headed back down to the wine cellar, mentally calculating how much time would pass before his collection had all run out because of Gilgamesh’s drinking. When he had arrived back upstairs, he found that Gilgamesh had stood up, watching as the first droplets of rain started hitting the glass. Against the dull light, he cut a strangely melancholic figure.

“…It smells like rain.” Sensing his approach, Gilgamesh turned toward him, but only slightly. The half of his face that Kirei can see was cast in shadow. His red eye gleamed. “Kirei, do you like the rain?” 

Frowning at the whimsical question, Kirei took his time in pouring out the wine in Gilgamesh’s glass and in his own before answering. “Will this lead us into another philosophical argument, King of Heroes?” 

Gilgamesh smiled evenly, and accepted his glass from Kirei. “No. It was just that. A question.” He swirled the contents of the wineglass and sipped at it. “Hmph. A lesser vintage than the one before, but it will suffice.” He looked up from his drink. “Well? Kirei?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t really answer that question.” Kirei looked away from Gilgamesh and followed the water running down the glass with his gaze. “The rain is either falling, or it is not. I have never really given much thought about whether I like or hate it.” 

“…I see. To give that kind of answer is just like you. No matter.” A dissatisfied look on his face, Gilgamesh downed his drink with a twitch of his lip. “This is a waste of time. Leave me, and do as you please. Only, do not disturb me.” 

Kirei murmured his acknowledgment of the order and stood up, half-full glass still in hand. “If you won’t mind, Gilgamesh,” he said, making the Servant look up with not a little irritation, “do you like the rain?” 

“Do I?” Gilgamesh’s mouth twisted—in anger or in some other emotion, Kirei cannot tell. Surprisingly, the King’s eyes held a slightly injured look—the most vulnerable Kirei has ever seen him. 

It was a look that Kirei was familiar with. It was the same look in Claudia’s eyes when she killed herself in front of him. 

“Do I like it?” Gilgamesh parrots him, mockingly. “Kirei, I _despise_ it.” 

Despite all their similarities… 

…at that exact moment, Kotomine Kirei realized just what it was that differentiated him and the golden Servant, even if Gilgamesh did not realize it himself. 

* * *

The last thing Gilgamesh remembers in life is the feeling of Ea’s clammy arms tightening around him and drawing him back into the shadowy depths of the Euphrates. 

The suffocating coldness. 

_“Beloved…”_

The overwhelming despair. 

_“Beloved…”_

The great gravity crushing his chest— 

_Beloved…_

—and wringing the last of his time from him. 

_It’s so cold._

The faces of his people, looking down upon him in mourning… 

“Ea, hear me speak. Bring my final message back to my people.” Under water, his voice shouldn’t have been carrying, but somehow he was able to communicate with the god now busy carrying him to his resting place. 

“I shall hear your final words, O King.” 

“Good.” Speaking like this takes a lot of time and effort, but Gilgamesh pushes on again anyway. 

_“Hear me, Ea!”_ he declares, and his voice is a song. 

_“I see the mountains beyond death, and countless number of worlds._

_“I see the day when the heavens shall be torn asunder by the wishes of my people, and the resurrection of your King in his golden glory._

_“Let it be heard, Ea!”_

“I have heard, O Divine One,” Ea says, softly. 

_“I see the day when the Star of Creation shall split heaven and earth, and when the Chains of Heaven shall sew them back together to make a new world._

_“When the sky above and when the earth below split into seven, I, Gilgamesh, shall bear witness to the end of the era of the gods._

_“Let it be heard, Ea!”_

“I have heard, Keeper of All Treasures,” Ea dutifully replies. 

_“May the gods in heaven tremble to hear my warning. For taking away what was mine, let the mongrels kneel, and kiss my feet in fear…_

_“When the sky above weeps tears of mud, I, the King, shall pass my judgment over you._

_“Let it be heard, Ea!”_

“I have heard, Seeker of Eternal Youth,” Ea says for the final time. He smiles against his ear, saying, “…And after threatening us so, I think that you still need to learn some more humility. However, now is not the time for punishment, but for rest. 

“Please, sleep, Lord Gilgamesh.” 

Gilgamesh nods, and closes his eyes. 

The darkness of the river depths closes over their heads, but Gilgamesh smiles. 

_Ah,_ he murmurs, _For, when the sky above…_

* * *

_“How deeply amusing you are. It has been a long time since I have laughed this much at something other than a jester’s foolish nonsense.”_

_Even as he laughed, his ruthless dreadfulness did not weaken in the slightest. Perhaps killing intent and great delight held roughly the same meaning to this golden ruler._

_“It is unfortunate, but I do not require a second friend. Past and future, my companion will only be one—and there need not be two kingly ones.”_

**Fate/Zero // Vol. 4, Act 16**

* * *

…Gilgamesh has lost track of how long he had been drifting in Ea’s cold embrace. 

However, after a while of drifting in the current, he becomes aware of the warmth tickling his skin. The water drowning him disappears, and air fills his lungs once more. Ea’s arms fall away from his chest. The light beats against the other side of his closed eyelids. Curious, he decides to open his eyes once more. 

He is stunned by what he sees when he finally gets accustomed to the brightness. 

The room that had suddenly lain before him had no discernible ceiling, so high was it. It is a stark white room with seven sides, seven golden thrones positioned equally at each end of the room, and the light that poured in the center, while blinding to the eyes, still holds a compelling strangeness and beauty that captured Gilgamesh’s stunned gaze. 

“Where…?” he asks, rather listlessly, in the empty silence of the room, but as the words fell from his lips, he realizes that he had already known the answer from the moment he opened his eyes—or was it that he had already known all along? It is like trying to determine the exact day when he learned how to walk. Frustrated, Gilgamesh looks around at the room once more, then back to the brilliant light. 

“Are you… You are, Alaya? The World?” he says, again questioningly, and this time he directs his statement to the light. “Is this… No, this is… the Throne of Heroes.”—with a growing certainty in his voice. 

Gilgamesh stares at the light, into the light, into Alaya. At the seven golden thrones. 

He stays still. Perhaps, he is listening to Alaya’s voice, one that only one of noble origin would hear. 

“Fool! How can the King want for more?” he roars out, an awakened lion and dangerous in his anger. “I have the world at the palm of my hand! All treasures can trace their origins back to my coffers!” 

His fury, a majestic sound, echoes all around the room. The light shifted a little, as if even the World herself shrank back at the King’s terrible mood, and then settled back. Gilgamesh starts, perhaps surprised at Alaya’s next statement. 

“…What I seek…?” 

Gilgamesh pauses. 

_“Gil, I hope that when the time comes that you get asked a question more important than this, you will be more honest with yourself.”_

“That is a foolish question,” he says, announces, declares. “The judgment of the mongrels who dare desecrate my garden—that is the only purpose that I serve. 

“The Holy Grail, you say? Bring it to me! I shall judge your beloved mongrels’ wishes, and if I find them lacking and disgraceful to the memory of the one closest to my heart, prepare to face my wrath. 

“And I shall tear open the heavens for the thieves that dare lay hands on my Grail, and bathe them in their folly… 

“I, Gilgamesh, desire—!” 

* * *

_“There are worthless things, but there are no meaningless things. …Beware, King of Heroes. If there is something that will bring you defeat, it will be just that.”_

**Fate/stay night // Heaven’s Feel—Day 8**

* * *

Kotomine Kirei wakes up in a cold sweat. The young voice of Gilgamesh’s only companion in the world still fills his ears. 

_“You’re not a tyrant, you’re much worse than that. …You’re an observer—someone that no one will hope to understand.”_

“Is that how it is, King of Heroes?” 

In the darkness of his room, he can still sense Gilgamesh’s presence by the doorway. The scent of blood wafting from him made it instantly obvious. Unlike usual, it seemed stronger, more potent. Kirei wondered if he would see Gilgamesh’s shirt spattered with actual blood if he dared open the lights. 

“Have you thought up of something unnecessary again, Kirei?” Gilgamesh’s voice was as smooth as a bolt of silk. 

“Have you been feeding again, Gilgamesh?” 

“The king feasts and makes merry when he wants.” 

Kirei instantly knew what a foolish question it was. 

“…Your wish is to use the Holy Grail to end humanity as it is now.” His voice was tight. 

“You implicitly knew that from the beginning. I do not deny it.” 

“But to what end?” Kirei found himself saying. “Surely you don’t mean to tell me that we have the same motives… We are different people, Gilgamesh.” 

“Do not presume to place me in equal comparison with yourself. Do not question my motives. Do not look up so impudently like a common mongrel. Such insolence is punishable by death.” 

“Then, why?” 

“Kirei, I am the Heroic Spirit that observes all other Heroic Spirits, and is thus alone in that regard,” was Gilgamesh’s simple words. “Look, at this rotten and filthy world. Surely, it is not worth my time to observe anymore. Surely, it is not worth my time to wait anymore?” 

The unspoken words hung between them. 

_Surely, it is not worth my time to be alone anymore._


End file.
